


Mercy Dies At The End

by Brokenhorn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Death, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 11:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brokenhorn/pseuds/Brokenhorn
Summary: On a cold night in Egypt, Angela Ziegler and her medical staff have a humanitarian camp set up just outside of Giza. Unbeknownst to her, however, Reaper intends to take his revenge on her for past grievances and intends to take her final words to Soldier 76.





	Mercy Dies At The End

Reaper crouched down from the top of his perch overlooking the landscape below, mulling over the next step. The encounter in Giza was an unexpected set-back. He expected _Shrike_ , or Ana Amari to be exact, but not the man that came in search of her. _Soldier: 76_ , a silly name for a washed-up commander playing vigilante. What brought him out _here_ from the Americas? Was it really just Amari or was there something more to it? He had discredited the break-ins of seemingly random corporations and minor Overwatch outposts until Jack went to the base in Colorado. The story made headlines and that’s when the authorities began their hunt. Reaper had followed the headlines, kept track of him until he stopped in Mexico and seemed to disappear. But reappearing in Egypt was a problem.

The man sighed as he observed the dunes that stretched past the restless city outskirts. Giza was a den of scum, villainy, and mercenaries, the Post-Crisis only bred mercs and omnic hunters that scoured the desert for lost or forgotten military units that somehow got misdirected into the sandy desert. You could still find the old wreckage of some of the drones, too, and get some good cash for their scrap, as well as find one of Talon’s hidden bases in the criminal underground, intermingled and hidden.

Now Reaper needed to plan his next step. Amari had been harassing Talon outposts and their operations for a while, but add Morrison to the mix? The two were always a problem, worse together than they were apart and this was only going to make Talon’s work in Egypt more difficult. Tracking Amari down was troublesome enough, though how daring she would be with Morrison by her side was hard to determine. Knowing him, they’d be an aggressive pair. 

There were many sites south of Giza, including several old ruins, and even inside the city that would make an effective base. Reaper glanced down at a small tablet he held in one hand, scowling down at the screen that held the geographical map of the area, marked with the various attacks and disruptions of Talon operations. To say it was a perfect chart of where to look would have been a poor statement, Amari’s attacks were disruptive, seemingly random, but Reaper narrowed down a number of areas that could be possible points of origin. One of these points was near the old Temple of Anubis and its scattered, nearly forgotten ruins. It’d be a good place to start, at least.

Angela, along with her medical team, had set up another one of the many travelling medical outposts and clinics on her humanitarian tour endeavor. After the fall of Overwatch, the collapse of the medic's almost... _found family,_ she'd realized that nothing was holding her to Switzerland, her homeland, anymore. Growing up without a family, without much but the clothes on your back was enough, usually, to get someone to wander. But Angela Ziegler indeed still had a family-- her team, a rag-tag band of trained, educated medical professionals, all laying down their lives to help those who needed it most. In their endeavors throughout the years, Angela had taught people about her nanites, ensuring that the _finished_ product was the one being used. Not the untested _garbage_ that she'd used to try and reanimate Commander Reyes.

Now, she had scars littering her arms like garbage in the streets after a Volksfest, though safely hidden under skin-hugging thermal-regulating shirts, and an ever present doctor's coat. Some of the self-inflicted injuries healed, others not so much, with marks ranging in looks from a poorly healed paper cut to a bad skin graft. After what she'd _done_ to Gabriel, she couldn't justify testing her life's work on any other living thing.

The team had all ventured into a poor district around the Temple of Anubis, the city bustling with life even after dark. But Angela found herself wandering in the night, always restless. Haunted by nightmares, faces of those that she _couldn't_ save throughout the years. A photographic memory had it's... _drawbacks._ She twiddled a cigarette in her pale fingers, having left her coat back in her room, and for once, choosing a tank top instead of her long sleeves as she wandered about town. Her evening stroll took her into a quiet part of the old, abandoned ruins, lighting her cigarette and taking a long, relaxing inhale of the flavored smoke. Closing eyes, held breath, and exhale the stress that ate her alive in those quiet hours. A method. Muscle memory to find peace, as short lived as it was. A flick of a lighter, a tiny flame in the darkness before fading away as soon as it came, illuminating the medic's solemn face for barely a moment before being tucked away back into the pocket of her jeans.

In the desert, the land had a way of speaking to someone. The sand dunes ripple, the winds rush past one’s ears and whisper, and the distant call of a jackal was almost melancholic in Reaper’s ears. It was a natural music and, for someone that cared, a reminder that the world went on. But he _didn’t_ care. The outskirts of Giza were just ruins and rubble, remnants of a time since past and one that he didn’t care to remember. Even sitting out here basking in the moonlight and the nocturnal sounds of the desert, with the intrusion of the occasional plane flying into Cairo, Reaper wasn’t a reflective man… maybe once, but not anymore.

He went through his list, the names of those he’d already killed and those he was going to kill. The soft light of a distant cigarette caught his attention. _Angela Ziegler_ , he almost forgot that she was so _close_ and all it took was damned Morrison and Amari to distract him from his lethal obsession. He chuckled, soundlessly to himself.

It was going to be an easy kill, almost merciful if he didn’t intend on making it last as _long as possible_. With a soft rustle, he sank into the shadows and used the desert winds to propel himself forward, drifting like a small gust of dark sand through the shadows before solidifying not far from the doctor.

The rumble of his voice mixed with the strain of what happened to him seemed to echo through the ruins, a harsh roughness that gave no emotion or actual concern, “Didn’t they tell you that smoking was bad for you, Doctor?”

Angela had taken a few, relaxing drags and had just begun to feel the lightheadedness, tilting her head back to look up at the stars before her heart dropped into her feet. She nearly dropped her cigarette, gasping and turning around to try and make out the form in the darkness. She spun on her toes, wide eyes locking onto the figure as it-- _he_ solidified. She took a few steps back, her fight-or-flight instincts immediately rising to the surface and causing her breath to hitch in her throat.

She straightened, furrowing her brow and flicking the cigarette from her lithe fingers, her shoe coming out to snuff the one little light and comfort she had. A hand came up to cover her chest and to calm her rapidly beating heart, moving to try and make an uncomfortable exit.

“Does anyone listen to a doctor’s orders, though?” She managed a laugh, though as his voice sunk in, her face blanched and her heart _stopped._ The medic’s shoulders tightened, and her arms crossed in front of her chest, a moment passing before she managed to speak, her voice suddenly a cracking squeak. “ _Gabriel?_ ”

Gabriel grinned behind the mask when he heard the doctor squeak, stepping out of the dark shadows and into the moonlight. “I was never one for following orders and red tape, either, _doctor_ ,” he answered.

Unlike the other targets that once belonged to Overwatch, this was more personal. A few politicians, business executives, even some agents had become as lowly as simple small town store managers; with Overwatch on someone's resume, they could go anywhere. But Angela Ziegler was personal, a case of simple revenge beyond the leftover scraps of Overwatch needing to be exterminated and disposed to be moved out of the way of Talon's goals.

“What's the matter, Angela,” he questioned as he stepped forward. “You look like you've seen a _ghost._ ”

Angela exhaled, blue eyes scanning over the figure in front of her. She knew his voice, that stride, but she wondered if she knew the man behind that mask. The emotions she always wore clear on her face faded from fear, to realization, to sadness, and acceptance in a matter of seconds. She took a tentative step back and to the side, shoulders dropping along with her gaze.

The medic certainly knew that this day would come. She'd lived her life as if every day would be her last-- ever since Gabriel had just up and disappeared off of her table. She thought that he had simply faded from existence-- that her resurrection did nothing but cause him to _disappear._ To cease not living, but existing in the world altogether. But, here he was, years later, here most likely to seek revenge. To be honest, she couldn't blame him. For a while she looked at his situation from his point of view-- and indeed, she was in the wrong. As such, she accepted her fate.

She knew how Gabriel Reyes worked-- from reading files to figure out how members of Blackwatch had sustained their injuries, to watching everyone spar in the training area. She knew almost instantly what he was there to do. Fear faded from all of the doctor's features, and she folded her hands behind her with grace. She wouldn't run, as she knew that she wouldn't be able to escape, anyway. If she returned to camp, she would only endanger her medical team. If she ran to town, she only endangered civilians. "Talking before a kill isn't like you, Gabriel." She stated, her voice cracking despite the lack of fear in her posture. "Unless you came for _answers,_ Ja?"

He almost laughed, almost, but her surprise faded quickly and this had, already, turned out differently than Gabriel had expected. With her tentative step back, he matched it, cleverly positioning himself in Widowmaker's way. No interruptions, regardless of how Angela reacted, he wanted to savor this moment for as long as he could.

“You think I came for answers? Call it bedside manners, except I don't tell lies to comfort the dying,” he answered as he stepped forward, looking her over up and down. The doctor was always tired, stressed, and overworked to a fault; so selfless in helping others that she was unable to properly care for herself.

After everything, she could have been anywhere but, instead, she was here on the fringes of civilization, helping the helpless as usual. Angela didn't change. Older now, yes, but she never changed. When Reaper came, there was no escape, and he could see in her eyes that she knew this as well as he did.

“I won't waste time saying you're a true Icarus, you know what you did,” he added, the rough hoarseness in his voice especially strong as he reached out with his clawed hands to her throat.

There was an anticipation with the act that forced a deep exhale, “I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel...” Frankenstein. One of the classics he adored before he became this _thing_ , an indulgence that he enjoyed in his off-duty hours. He could still recite it all, even after all this time, and it still came so naturally. Part of him, at least, was still Gabriel Reyes.

Angela didn't struggle or move away as Gabriel rounded closer, his arm coming out to wrap a clawed hand around her lithe throat. Hell, his hand could pretty much wrap entirely around her neck-- Her head spinning with regrets resurfacing after being shoved away for years. He was right. She certainly knew what she did. And she doubted a simple 'sorry' would suffice. Though, as that clawed hand wrapped around her throat, she closed her eyes and placed a hand on the back of his-- buying just a little time, she hoped.

"Finish... the line, Gabriel. I know you _can._ " She croaked out, eyes opening to peer into the dark sockets of his mask. "... _whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed._ "

She managed a chuckle, her head tilting back to look up at the stars above them. They looked beautiful; and made her think of her childhood in Switzerland. High up in the Alps, hidden away in one of the many orphanages following the Crisis. She wondered how the mothers and priests were doing in that little monastery. They'd all worked hard to raise the children there. She wondered if they'd hear about her death, and how they would take it. She supposed they would be heartbroken-- But she was sure that the other children she grew up with hadn't made so much of their lives.

"I would have thought--" A pause to breathe as it caught in her throat. "--you would quote something closer to _Hamlet,_ not _Frankenstein,_ _Herr Reyes._ "

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Gabriel remarked just to humor the doctor as he lifted her up as if she were just a feather, hovering over the edge of the ruined building. It would have been so _easy_ to make it look like an accident and, like a predator playing with an injured and dying prey, Reaper dangled her over the edge. “You think I'm so _predictable_? Were you expecting a monologue before the end?”

He let the question linger in the night air, the only sound being the distant Giza and the nocturnal wildlife. Reaper's grip tightened, enough to make her gasp, to smother her airways but not enough to suffocate. He held her life in his left hand and he wasn't going to let it go to waste so quickly. Reaper spun quickly, a flourish and soft _whoosh_ from his long coat, as he slammed the doctor hard against the crumbling wall behind him, out of sight from the observing sniper's scope.

“I'm so sorry to disappoint but I'm not doing this for you, doc,” he hissed and reached behind him with his right hand, drawing out a sharp combat knife, sharp and catching the moon's shine, smooth on one side and sharp and jagged on the other. He held it in front of her, taunting with the weapon as he displayed it to her in all its glory. “What's the one thing I don't have, Angela?”

Angela couldn't help swinging her legs as she was lifted off the ground, her eyes jamming shut for a moment as her hands clawed at Reaper's vice grip on her throat. She knew he was playing with her-- and so she had two choices. Play along, and give him the satisfaction of a good kill, or be stubborn until he tired of her. The least she could do was to play along-- She couldn't fix him, she couldn't keep him alive, or Jack, or anyone else that mattered. She'd played God with him, and he paid for it, now.

"Disappoint? _Gabriel,_ you--" She took a breath in as he swung her around and slammed her into the old bricks, her head spinning after cracking against the stone, and her breath gone as her ribs and lungs struggled to find function after impact. Blue eyes opened, unfocused and dazed as she tried to focus on Gabriel before her, before falling on the knife as it glinted brightly in the moonlight. Suddenly, one of the old prayers came to mind from the medic-- the old priests' sermons coming to light as she came more and more into the realization and acceptance that she was going to _die. 'Though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I fear no evil...'_

His question pulled her mind from its spinning dreamscape, the medic giving a pained groan as an answer. Her hand instead came out to brush against the white mask that hid his face, as if asking for him to take it off.

“Blood, Angela! Blood!” Gabriel hissed as he plunged the knife straight into his chest, the doctor would know that’s _where his heart is_. He extracted it slowly, with hardly a grimace or shiver or pained groan, only a thin leak of drifting black smoke where the wound was. He pulled the knife up against his throat, slowly digging it into one side of his neck and dragging it to the other, the same smoke leaking from the wound. His voice was unbroken, harsh and coarse as it was before. “And that’s a good thing. A ghost who bleeds is less dangerous!”

The doctor’s hand trying to pull that mask off didn’t succeed, something held the mask firmly against the man and he only adding a grim chuckle as her hand brushed against it. Without a single thought or moment’s hesitation, he threw the doctor down hard against the floor and out of the shelter of the wall.

“And at least I’m not _Jack!_ So full of himself that he hides behind his mask and calls himself a _ghost,_ ” Reaper added before pressing a heavy boot down on the center of the doctor’s chest, slowly and agonizingly applying pressure until he felt her ribs crack and break underneath him. " _Where_ is your precious Strike Commander, now, while he sits by and lets this happen?"

Angela couldn't help but be startled at the sight of the old Blackwatch Commander plunge a knife through his chest, through the kevlar, and watched in both horror and fascination at the tendrils of smoke that replaced the tell-tale leak of blood. Her eyes grew wide, her breath catching again in her throat at the scare tactics that Gabriel was showing. _She_ had done this to him. The Gabriel Reyes she'd known all those years ago, looked up to just like she'd looked up to Jack, he was gone. The man before her was but a husk-- and all those naïve hopes she'd had over the years crushed at the sight of him slicing open his own _neck._ Quoting classic literature like some _villain._

She struggled only after she felt the boot upon her chest, another pained groan escaping her as she tried, and failed, to push the heavy armored boot off of her. Lithe arms shook, fingers quivered as she frantically attempted to _breathe._ Though, a coughing yell of agony was the only response he got to the sickening sound of ribs cracking under his weight.

"Jack--" She grunted, trying to push the pain out of her mind and managing a weak kick upward, her knee coming to strike at the back of Gabriel's. She caused it to buckle, for just a second, allowing her to fill her lungs with a rasping gasp and a sob.

"Jack wouldn't--" another inhale, and another choke on her breath. " _\--do this._ "

"He'd--" Another breath, another sharp twinge of pain as one of her ribs twisted cruelly inward. "Jack is _dead._ Just like--" Another inhale, shallower this time and followed by a sob. "-- _Y-You should be._ "

“No, he wouldn’t,” Reaper agreed. “He never could handle getting his hands dirty, he went soft after they gave him that desk.”

He grinned behind his mask when he felt that satisfying crack beneath his boot, the doctor’s kick did nothing to free herself from her predicament and, if anything, he pressed his weight down a little _harder_. When Reaper finally removed his boot, he picked her back up again as if she weighed nothing, grabbing her by the collar as he held her back out over the edge.

“You don’t _believe_ me, Angela? That’s a shame, I’m sure Jack would have _loved_ to hear how you believed in him until the end. Or maybe this is what he wanted, get rid of the little orphan girl he lied to.”

“You were just a propaganda scheme, Angela. Orphan, high hopes and dreams, good student. A real tear-jerker story to tell at all those fundraisers, even better when he had you to flaunt off like some trophy wife. Why do you think he gave you all those monologues? Because he believed in your little pet project or because Overwatch needed the free funding? Take your pick, he won’t get the chance to tell you himself.”

Angela let out another pained groan, her hands coming up to try and support herself in his clawed grip. Her breath was shallow, and labored, and soon it was wet and pitiful as one of her ribs betrayed her, jutting painfully into her lung like a slowly moving scalpel. His words cut her, eyes closing as they welled with tears. Sweat formed on her brow and her face paled, her skin turning a ghostly pallor in the moonlight as she struggled to find shallow, drowning breaths; like she couldn't get enough oxygen in and of itself.

A cough, and blood sputtered up her esophagus and down her chin, her desperate flailing only making her rib burrow further into the soft tissues of her lung. Another cough, and a spatter of blood hit that pale, white mask, warm, sticky crimson speckling its way up his kevlar-covered arm. She said nothing at his words, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace than anything else.

"It was... _worth it._ " She stammered, an agonized groan escaping her, followed by sobs that could either be from her physical pain, or the fact she knew she was going to die in _vain_.

"Sounds like you were just a tool, too, then." Lithe fingers dug into where he gripped the collar of her shirt, securely holding her weight up as she stubbornly fought to breathe-- one of her hands pushing up the sleeves. Scars, new and old, littered the pale, shaking flesh there. "I-- I tried to fix--" A pause, her chest swelling with a sharp, shallow intake of air. "--my mistake. After _you._ "

"I found a family. Even-- Even -- if it was all a _lie._ " Another gasp of air, another stubborn kick to his chest, barely making contact. "I don't regret-- a _minute_ of it. You-- You were a good man, Gabriel--" Inhale, cough, her grip shaking as she tried to stay conscious. She wasn't a soldier-- she never had been. But she was stubborn-- even now as her brain swam in panic and adrenaline. "--I tried to-- to-- _save_ that. _Y-You._ " Another gasp of air, and another round of crimson spattered onto the Reaper's mask. "It was more-- t-than _Jack_ did."

Reaper stared the helpless doctor down behind the unfeeling, cold, and pale mask. The splatter of blood didn’t bother him as some of the warm crimson splashed onto his Kevlar-protected arms. He tightened his grip at her words, “…Worth it?”

He contained his anger and frustration thus far but hearing her say that his pain, his _suffering_ was worth it almost made him snap her neck right then and there. With his right hand, he reached up to tear off his mask, pulling under his hood to remove the reinforced balaclava connected to his mask.

Then the smell came. The rotting, putrid smell mixed with the acrid smell of blood, smothering exposed muscle and moist flesh, his internals clouded by that black smoke that seemed to replace his bodily fluids. His body was decomposing, falling apart on itself as the nanites that restored him were struggling, dying and rebuilding themselves on an endless, self-destructive loop of finite energy. Gabriel’s face was a rotting mess, holes and tears in his face exposing muscle, bone, and the inside of his mouth and teeth that seemed too sharp to be really human – maybe the corrupted nanites changed him into something else that only _appeared_ to be the old Reyes. His brow furrowed in a deep scowl, face curling in disgust,

 **_”Was this worth it for you?!”_ ** As he held her, dangling her helplessly over the edge once more, tendrils of that black smoke slowly snaked their way up his arms. Snake-like clouds of those medicinal nanites, Angela’s medical pride and joy, corrupted and siphoning energy wherever it can be found. The slithering cloud found her as a new source of energy, digging into exposed skin to siphon her essence, her energy, her _soul_ . “I’ll be sure to tell Jack and _Ana_ about how you died, they’ll be the only ones to know the truth behind your ‘suicide’. Any last words, doc?”

Angela was both transfixed and horrified at his face, the rancid smell of rot hitting her full force. Had she not had a trained stomach of steel, she might have heaved at the stench. Instead, she simply stared in stunned silence. Her fingers shook as they held her in place, tightening securely and stubbornly as she took in a haggard breath to speak. She did her best to ignore the pain in her rib and as the corrupted nanites began leeching her life from her flesh -- it wouldn’t matter, soon, right?

“I played God, Gabriel. The nanites-- they weren’t finished. Your super-s-soldier training changed something in your DNA-- that I hadn’t anticipated. At-- the time. Your condition _wasn’t intended,_ I swear.” Another gasping, wet breath, blue eyes locking onto the tendrils of nanites burrowing into her flesh. She felt light-headed, and tired. But, she supposed she deserved this. “Had I the chance to-- revive you... _The right way,_ I’d do it.” Not like this. It would’ve been done correctly; in sanitary conditions, in civilization, in light-- not some field hospital she’d erected outside of a burning headquarters and trying days to save people in the dirt.

Gabriel Reyes had been dead for _days_ by the time his body had been recovered and put in front of her. She hadn’t believed the rumors surrounding _either_ of the commanders-- not once. In fact, she’d come to their defense more than once, resolving conflict to the best of her ability. And so, instead of simply identifying the body and marking it for burial, she’d pumped her then-untested nanites into his burned, crushed flesh. In theory, it should have worked. Microscopic robots programmed to find problems with the standard human’s anatomy-- such as a broken bone, a gunshot, or burned flesh. But _Herr_ Reyes certainly wasn’t a typical human. He’d had genetic modification, something that threw off the nanites-- the poor robots recognizing his body as something they _should_ fix, but unable to adapt to. She hadn’t even seen Gabriel’s twisted form before he’d disappeared off her table.

“I never-- m-meant for this to happen to you.” She breathed, her legs ceasing in their desperate kicking; either losing her motivation or the energy to continue.

Her face paled, and she lost the will to cough-- let alone keep holding on to his hand. “My nanites, now, they’ve been perfected. They... They can... At least... fix some of the damage I caused. Ease the pain--” A shaking inhale. “--Restore your skin. Back at camp-- Take as much as you need. Just-- please, don’t hurt my staff. They’ve-- done nothing wrong.”

He didn’t have to believe her--she’d tried to explain everything. The medic had never lied to anyone-- let alone the commander about something like this. Another inhale, and she let her eyes roam back up to his face, staring into his angry, almost rotten-looking eyes. “...I’m-- _sorry_.”

Reaper held Angela over the edge as she spoke, slowly squeezing and nearly choking the life out of her. He watched her face pale and her body lose the energy to struggle, she was helpless – not that there was much she could have done to stop him from ending her life at _any moment_. The chronic pain of the nanites was constant, some days worse than others, and he knew that killing her would not end the pain that he suffered – only his death would solve that and he refused to die, he wanted his revenge and then maybe he’d be happy to fade away from existence and into some kind of morbid legend left behind by his deadly legacy.

“ _Sorry_ isn’t going to cut it.”

He didn’t drop her, even if the temptation was there. Maybe he could have torn her little medical camp apart for those nanites, but that’d take more time than if she just led him to them. The doctor was too weak from struggling, probably didn’t have the energy to stand. So, Gabriel slipped his mask back on and carried her quietly into the camp and he knew _exactly_ where her tent was, Talon had more than a few eyes in Egypt to keep tabs on all of Giza’s visitors. The sleepy camp was unaware of their deadly intruder that held Angela hostage.

Maybe some restless staff here and there, enjoying a smoke or tending to the overnight needs of patients, but otherwise quiet behind the winds howling through the Old Giza ruins and the ambience of the nocturnal wildlife. Seeing the early morning camp slowly begin to wake up only made the medic fearful for everyone's safety. She pointed the way towards her tent, though the way he walked indicated he'd either been here before, or had intel on where she resided. He hadn't promised not to hurt any of her workers-- He hadn't said _anything,_ in fact, before she was thrown onto her cot with obvious maliciousness. Reaper simply tossed the medic with no intention of being careful for her well-being.  

She let out a pained sob on impact, clutching her ribs and feeling the one that had twisted inward and pushed into her lung. It took her a few long moments to work out the coordination to speak, as if she were choking on her own breaths. She felt light headed, and what conscious thought she did have, it was addled with pain. “Where is it,” he demanded as he started his search through her tent with no regard for being tidy. Though, as he began to rummage through her tent, she moved to stand, gasping for air. The medic was doubled over, her right arm coming around to try and support her rib to buy some damn _time._ Her left hand came out to rest on one of the counters in the room, reaching up to a cabinet and pulling it open. "Here." She choked out, pulling one of them out and digging around for the supplies needed to run an IV. She didn't even bother grabbing herself one, despite her hands shaking. "Take a seat." A pause, pointing at the lone chair at the foot of her bed. "I'll-- get everything ready."

Reaper seethed with impatience as he nearly tore the doctor’s tent apart – or was about to, until she choked up and instructed him to take a seat. He sighed, taking a seat and pulling his reinforced Kevlar sleeve back up his arm; the flesh looked mostly dead and toned a shade of grey as an inkling of that dreadful rotting smell drifting into the room again. The man’s clothes, even the balaclava that he wore fastened to his mask, seemed to keep the smell contained from the outside world. He was rotting, falling apart on himself. If these ‘perfected’ nanites could reverse some of the damage, maybe that would buy him more time. Time to do what? He wasn’t sure, his _list_ was all he seemed to have left. The chronic pain reminded him that he was still alive, against his will, a monster that would be forgotten as a bad dream soon enough.

He watched the doctor closely like a vulture does a dying animal, so _close_ to exacting his revenge but his curiosity may have gotten the better of him. She was lightheaded from the way she walked and struggled, he’d surely crushed at least a rib or two, maybe punctured a lung. Angela was sincere in her apologies, he _knew_ that but he wasn’t as young as she was – he knew apologies didn’t do shit and so did she. So he waited for the new nanites, holding as still as a statue while Angela struggled to stand and her hands were shaking. “Hurry up,” his voice lacked any and all patience.

She furrowed her brow at his crude impatience, her lip curling in irritation before it faded to blankness once again, jaw clenched tightly to make her focus on her task. She prepped the IV-- Intravenous tubing, saline flush, clamped shut and ready to go. Though her hands shook, she continued. The line was connected to the little bag, and soon the solution that had filled the tubing before soon glowed a dull gold, along with the rest of the nanites, all eagerly waiting to do their job.  
  
In a liquid form, such as this, her nanites could do the most good for a patient, especially when allowed to be left in the body. This way, there would be continuous repair, even after the IV was emptied. As for Gabriel... Well... She-- rather, her nanites, had their work cut out for them. She had no doubt in her mind that they would work. They'd been tested and proven to be effective in treating all sorts of debilitating injuries, and saving limbs from gangrenous atrophy, which certainly was similar to this Mr. Reyes' _condition._  
  
Patients with atrophied and gangrenous limbs spoke of the initial treatment as warm, and almost soothing as the pain associated with their limbs was eased. She moved to stand next to him, counting the pieces she needed. She certainly hadn't fallen from the habit of muttering to herself-- even after the years of being away from Overwatch. 20 gauge Angiocatheter, a sterile glove prodding at his arm and inserting the little needle into where a good vein seemed to be. Deft, but shaking fingers placed the IV tube where it was supposed to be, and holding her breath, she unclamped it's line, letting the little glowing gold fill the tube and disappear into the graying flesh.

Gabriel's veins soon began to illuminate, the shrunken skin protruding as the nanites began to work diligently reviving the skin, turning death and decay into living, breathing tissue. She even used her fingers to help them along, tracing along the veins of his arm to help encourage the flow. She suspected his nanites to fight back, but there certainly was more of her own where that came from. There was an entire cabinet of nanites she could use-- and maybe, just maybe, she'd have one less regret to look back on. Soon, the man's entire arm was almost glowing, the veins that sat close to his skin all alight with the gold of her life's work. They moved slowly, due to the man barely having a semblance of a pulse, but they began to creep up his shoulder, and towards his neck, causing the medic to give a smile as she sat and held her side, shallow breaths making her feel as if she wasn't getting enough air.

She deserved the pain, however, and she too had nanites in her system. They would slowly put her back together, and even now, she felt the rib being pushed from her lung, bit by bit. She just had to buy herself some time. Not like she really cared-- she knew that Gabriel would finish her off. But being able to think straight, and not through a haze of pain would be a plus. "Do you feel anything?" She asked, cocking her head to watch the nanites at work, smiling at the way that color appeared to return to the man's flesh. Death-like Ash began to appear more mahogany-colored, bit by patchy bit.  
  
Reaper regarded the illuminating change, at first, with a clear lack of interest. It wasn’t until his skin returned to its living, mahogany color and the pocked flesh starting healing that he felt its effects. It was almost like feeling the effects of morphine, drifting on a drug-like high that made him feel like he was floating. Conscious, but his mind felt as if it were floating.  
  
“Yessss,” he hissed under his breath, flexing his hands as the illuminated veins flared and dimmed only slightly. The chronic pain slipped away and for the first time in *seven* long years, he felt… alive and actually human. Reaper felt such relief it was like a moment of pure ecstasy. Was this what it was like to live without every moment and breath being painful and unbearable?

It felt wonderful, exhilerating, a breath of fresh air compared to the lingering, dull pain that had pained him for so long. Then something felt wrong, and off, as the illuminated veins dimmed and turned *black*. He grimaced as something stung inside his arms, his veins, coursing through his body and that same dull pain that he had felt for the past near-decade and the return of that rising rage and resentment that fueled his desire for revenge.  
  
He violently tore out the IV, leaving faint wisps of black smoke drifting from where they were before. Reaper gritted his teeth, snarling as his hands reached inside his long coat and withdrew his shotguns on pure instinct, “Liar! _Nothing_ you can do will ever help me!”  
  
“Gabriel, please! I can still--”  
  
The shotgun blasts were like thunder, thunderous booms that shook the stillness of the medical camp and made more than a few hearts start racing as doctors and nurses immediately ran towards Dr. Ziegler’s tent. Blood splattered across the canvas and the discarded supplies, they found the doctor’s broken body and the dark, shadowy form of Reaper. The night was filled with the thunderous booms of shotgun fire and, in the morning, the medical camp was a morbid sight, a silent graveyard of blood and withered husks.


End file.
